The Laundry Officer
by Jake
Summary: A Vorkosigan enemy learns a few things about Miles, and about himself.
1. Reversal of Fortune

_**Disclaimer:** This fanfic universe belongs to a fantastic author named Lois McMaster Bujold, who graciously allows her fen to play in it. I'll post my list of OCs and original toys at the end._

He alternated between staring out of the unshuttered viewscreen at the stars behind the invisible wormhole facing his ship and staring down at the control panel's hyper-space monitor that gave him an unprecedented revealing view of the same spacetime anomaly. The one-man ship was motionless in normspace at this point, because to now reactivate the spacedrive that brought him here would be an irrevocable decision. And he was not yet ready to decide.

So while waiting for whatever stimulus he needed to make up his mind, he couldn't help but review the events that brought him to this precipice.

---------

The reassignment order hit like a blast from a nerve disruptor, except with travel passes attached. He was to be the new laundry officer at Lazkowski Base, also known as Camp Permafrost, in a hellish place called Kyril Island, right up against the arctic circle of Barrayar. Winter training base for the infantry.

_No, no, NO! God, NO! This_ has_ to be some horrible error!_

But his meeting with his commanding officer proved otherwise. The CO was sincerely sympathetic and also clearly had nothing to do with the reassignment. The order was stamped **BY IMPERIAL DECREE**.

Which could only mean one of two things: either Lord Imperial Auditor Vorkosigan had managed to get rid of his romance rival directly, or the vile mutant had persuaded his foster brother Emperor Gregor Vorbarra to do the nasty deed for him.

Of course there would be no farewell celebration. This was neither a promotion nor a lateral move to a more desirable billet. A _demotion_ to ensign while remaining posted to Operations HQ in Vorbarr Sultana would be far preferable.

Camp Permafrost's newest acquisition shook his former CO's hand, gave one last sharp salute, and departed to clear out his desk and head for home. The tears didn't flow until he was safely alone in his apartment.

His next meeting was bracing, to put it mildly. His uncle came at him not as his Count, but as retired Colonel Boriz Vormoncrief, former grunt commander.

"You really screwed the pooch on this one, boy. You should have accepted that widow's answer when she sent your Baba back with 'No, thank you.' I don't think I need to tell to you that this ends your political aspirations, at least for the foreseeable future."

"No, sir. I'd pretty much figured that out by the time the initial shock wore off. I just ... I didn't see _this_ coming!"

"Hmm ... Neither did I. Which troubles me some. If the Progressives are striking at _all_ levels of us ... no, I suspect _this_ was personal. It isn't just Vorkosigan; the woman's uncle is an Imperial Auditor as well, you know. Attempting to force her to your side by coming at her through her son was a foolish thing to do."

The younger man sighed. "I know. Hell, I knew it even then. But I was desperate to be married. You know how awkward I am at this whole political business. Marriage is mandatory to move onward and upward in politics, and the shortage of available Vor ladies is maddening."

His uncle's face gave a brief sign of sympathy before hardening again. "I still think you made a big mistake by not pursuing your calling as a tech officer. My god, you're the most gifted member of the family with math and science in generations! You'd be a captain by now if you'd chosen that career option."

Lieutenant Lord Alexi Vormoncrief let through as much consternation as he dared at this point, which was hardly any at all. "Tech officers don't get posted to Vorbarr Sultana, Uncle! I can hardly pursue a political career as you and Father urged whilst I'm supervising repairs at some equipment depot in Komarran space or designing bigger and better gravitic imploders at Vorkraft Base.

"And I was good at Ops HQ! I _was_, sir!"

"Yes, you did your job well. God knows I would have heard all about it if my nephew was just sliding by on Vor-lordling status." Neither seemed to realize that _Vor-lordling sliding_ had largely become myth in recent years. With non-Vor officers now given as many career opportunities as the Vors, and therefore becoming as much a career hazard to the Vor officers as ghem-lord weapons aimed at them, those who were willing to slide by mainly on Vor status often soon found themselves back in civilian life, where the competition was often even fiercer.

The Count drained the last of the wine in his glass and waited until Alexi had taken another token sip from his. "Now listen carefully, Alexi. What I tell you here and now may just save your ass. I was head of two infantry training commands to Camp Permafrost, so I know the place. Find that attitude you had back in your first year at the Imperial Academy and hold it close and don't let go of it. Keep your eyes and ears open and your opinions to yourself. The place you're going would love to stick it to a trapped Vor officer, and in as many ways as possible.

"Next thing, download a copy of the Lazkowski Base Regulations before you leave this city. Read it, then read it again. At least half the questions you'll ever have about that hellhole are answered right there in the manual, and better than you're likely to get from anybody on staff, even assuming they're willing to give you a straightforward answer."

Then, as if he didn't quite trust his street-foolish nephew to follow his advice, Count Vormoncrief went on to warn about the deceptive-and-deadly quasi-frozen mud pools, the deceptive-and-deadly wah-wahs, and the even more deceptive-and-deadly alcoholism that afflicted more than half of the permanent military staff posted at the top of the world.

"Only two types of officers ever get permanently posted to Camp Permafrost: the unlucky and the unloved. You, the most recently unloved, have just made one of the unlucky very happy by getting him reassigned closer to the equator, if not off-world altogether. But you'll survive this if you stay smart about the place."

"Thanks, Uncle, I appreciate your advice."

The advice he got from his widowed mother was valuable as well. "It is said that the Chinese symbol for crisis is also the symbol for opportunity, Alexi. This may prove the perfect chance for you to get your degree in whichever science field currently holds your heart. The University of Vorbarr Sultana offers an on-line campus for all officers stationed on Barrayar. I know you didn't have much time _here_, with your Ops duties ... and _other_ demands on your time." She hated the political demands her late husband and her brother-in-law had put on her son, but had kept her silence. Until now. "I imagine your duties as laundry officer will afford you more free time for studying, especially during the summer lulls."

"Thank you, Mother, I appreciate your advice."


	2. The Weatherman and The Madman

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1 ..._

Alexi disembarked from the mail auto-shuttle, barely acknowledging the salutes from the enlisted men on the tarmac who were there to pick up the incoming mail sacks and ship off the outgoing, just as he'd barely acknowledged the shuttle backup pilot's existence. He shouldered his duffle bag and picked up his single valise and went straight towards the base command post. He'd spent his final day in Vorbarr Sultana memorizing most of the base regs as well as most of the base map, so he didn't need to ask for directions. Also, he had copies of the regs and the map in his porta-reader in case he needed to look something up. _Complete self-reliance. That's the credo in this place_, he thought grimly.

He found the base commander's office with no trouble at all. The corporal in the outer office stood and saluted.

"Good afternoon, Corporal." Alexi returned the salute, presented his orders and asked, "Is the base commander in?"

"No, sir. General Vorlakail is on leave to the capital, to attend the Emperor's wedding."

After absorbing the surprise that the highest ranking officer here was another Vor, Alexi realized that naturally a _Vor general_ would have received an invitation to Gregor's and Laisa's wedding.

_Ah, yes, the wedding! _The _Wedding. How could I have forgotten about That?_ he sneered inwardly.

"Did he leave orders for me? He must have known I'd be coming."

"Yes, sir. I'll log you as reported in, Lieutenant--" a quick glance at the orders "Vormoncrief." The corporal smiled and handed back the orders, along with a hardcopy of the base regs, a hardcopy base map and the hardcopy manual on his new assignment: laundry officer. He hesitated, then said "Sir, it's my unhappy duty to tell you that the officer you're replacing has already left the base... He took an early leave. Sir." The corporal indeed looked unhappy.

"In other words, he took advantage of the CO's absense to skip out on his duty of training his replacement." Fortunately Alexi had already spent a little time reading up on his new duties as he traveled here. It was a no-brainer almost literally, a thorough waste of an Imperial Academy graduate. Just a routine, mind-numbing assignment that had to done properly--and supervised properly. If you did it right, nobody cared. That was just to be expected. Doing it wrong was when people paid attention to you, and in a very unwelcome fashion.

The corporal shrugged and said, "Yes, sir. Do you need directions to the officers' barracks or the mess hall, sir?"

"No, I'll find them. Thank you, corporal."

Instead of saluting, the corporal spoke again. "Sir? I was wondering, ... with you coming from the capital ..." The corporal was unsure whether to proceed.

_He wouldn't dare ask me how I got posted to _this _place, and _this _job! Would he?_ "Yes?"

"Sir, I was wondering if you'd ever met Lord Vorkosigan."

Alexi could scarcely believe his ears. He remembered the unpleasant interruption by Miles Vorkosigan during his courtship of Ekaterin Vorsoisson in her aunt's parlor. That evil dwarf ostensibly came to talk to her about a gardening project. _Ha!_

Then he heard his uncle's voice: _Keep your opinions to yourself._ "No, I've never met him. Why?" he asked in an almost dangerous tone.

The corporal didn't seem to notice. "Well, he's something of a legend around here, sir. I gather you'll be hearing a lot about him eventually, especially from the longtimers. If you'd met him, everybody'd want to know what you knew about him personally, sir."

"Including you?"

The corporal nodded and gave an embarrassed smile.

"How exactly is Lord Vorkosigan a 'legend' here?"

"This was his first post, right out of the Academy, sir. As the Chief Meteorology Officer."

_Miles Vorkosigan ... was posted here? As _Meteorology _Officer?_

"--pretty much saved the base from a toxic spill. Had to go head-to-head with 'Madman' Metzov to do it." The corporal sounded almost like a worshipper describing his favorite priest, or his favorite god.

"'Madman' Metzov?"

"Yes, sir. General Metzov was the base commander back then, oh, ten years ago now, I guess. Everybody says he was a dangerous lunatic, that's how he got the nickname 'Madman'. Not to his face, I'm sure, sir.

"Anyway, Ensign Vorkosigan was fresh out of the Academy and he replaced a retiring weather officer. Nobody seems sure why the son of Admiral Count Vorkosigan got posted here as the weather officer but they all say he dug right in and learned his job. Then in his first winter, there was a real nasty accident in one of the toxic storage bunkers -- deadly stuff called fetaine got spilled -- and the techs wanted to thermo the whole bunker but 'Ma-- er, General Metzov wasn't having any of that. He was going on about 'obligations' and so on, despite the danger to the whole base if the winds shifted the fumes this way. Ensign Vorkosigan backed him down somehow. There's different versions of what happened exactly but it's the most talked-about incident to ever ... happen ... here ..." The corporal noticed the shock on Alexi's face and wound down.

_Miles Vorkosigan was posted _Here? _And he's a bloody _Hero?

He regained his composure. "Yes, well, I imagine I'll be hearing all those versions in due time. Carry on, corporal."

"Yes, sir." They exchanged salutes and Alexi left the admin building to get settled in his new quarters.

The base was practically deserted, which was to be expected during the summer off-season but probably even more so than usual with all the activity elsewhere surrounding the Wedding. There would be celebrations almost all over the planet for the Great Event. Alexi told himself he didn't care about that kind of thing anymore, and almost convinced himself of it.

He found his quarters and got his things stowed away, then headed for the laundry building. He found the lone enlisted man on duty sleeping at a rear desk with an empty bottle of beer next to him. But there were no bags of dirty laundry waiting to be cleaned, and there were several bags of clean laundry sitting in the pick-up area. Reading the riot act _now_ to this trained and apparently competent subordinate would be more counterproductive than anything else. He'd come in tomorrow at the start of the fresh duty day to get the area shaped up.

He went into his new office to see if his predecessor had left anything of importance. It turns out he had: a recorded disk full of particulars relating to the proper filling of the base's laundry needs, including specific special-care details on how General Vorlakail and a couple of other top officers expected their laundry to be handled. Alexi sighed and took this disk back to his barracks to study in private with his porta-reader.

And to think unhappy thoughts about Miles Vorkosigan.

... to be continued


End file.
